Oooh. Motel stationery. Nice. The place is not bad. So
here I am writing a bit to vent. Scully's never gone
too long when she scouts the area, but right now I
don't have a soul to talk to, so I'll put this "nice"
fine quality paper to use, then maybe just toss it.
A waste?  Yes. But not the thoughts. Just a precaution.

 

Dear Diary: Today my heart leapt realizing Scully and
I are still alive, our son is safe, and no one except
the four people we trust most are free as birds and
gathering our means of pay back. Look out aliens, we're
just about ready to take you by storm, if the information
I'm getting from Doggett, Reyes, Skinner and Kersh is
any indication. I have a lot more buried in my Dad's
backyard. I don't know whether he's proud of me or
rolling in his grave, but if my encounter with him in
a dream when the Navaho were helping me is any help
while I figure this out, I believe he's cheering me
on from the great beyond.

 

I'd better burn this later.

 

To continue: Scully's been my strength through everything
we've seen and been through all these years, and although
we're on the run and constantly rightly paranoid, she has
been so patient. I can't imagine why. We have a son to see
again some day and a world to defend, not to mention a very
worried Margaret Scully. We haven't let her know we're
still alive yet. Something tells me she believes we are.

She's been right about so many things. And they call ME
'Spooky'.

 

We're going to follow every lead, conquer every obstacle
and beat this impending Invasion.

 

If I were to take Scully and treat her to the best food,
music, dancing and movies, a home and family, it would be
anywhere but here. I owe it to her; I owe it to us.

 

It's about time we were anywhere but here.

 

                            END